


Too Late For Sorry

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Fiction, M/M, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-08
Updated: 2003-04-08
Packaged: 2018-11-20 06:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Fox has the keys to Alex's chains, but Alex holds the key to Fox's heart.





	Too Late For Sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Too Late For Sorry

### Too Late For Sorry

#### by Jami Wilsen

  


Date: April 7, 2003 

Title: Too Late For Sorry 

Rating: NC-17 for bondage, imprisonment, sex, m/m content, angst and fluffy schmoop. 

Pairing: M/K, M/Other 

Notes: This is a Fantasy AU set in the Middle Ages, circa 1450 A.D. Forgive any anachronisms that pop up! Don't worry too much about the /Others mentioned in the pairing...They are hardly mentioned - it's only to get the juices flowing and won't detract from the M/K dynamic which is intently focused on here. For those who are expecting heavy violence, go seeking elsewhere, as here you will be disappointed. And by God, I refuse to apologize for the schmoop content too! 

Archives: Sure. 

Disclaimer/Spoilers/Warning: Guess what, I've made them mine this time. This is AU and goes into territory some canon M/K fans might not like. By all means, feel free to watch the X-Files instead of reading about Alex kept naked in chains. For there in the show, one can find more KrycekTorture than one can shake a stick at, including watching Krycek having his arm cut off and being left to rot in a dark silo by his unfeeling Creators, not to mention getting shot in the face. (Moi, bitter? LOL!) I treat him much better! 

Cover Art: http://www.catthause.com/jami/xfiles/2late4sorry.htm 

Setting: The Dark Ages, a gay historical romance. Really, I don't know what happened. I didn't write this! I didn't! The green-eyed demon possessed me! 

Beta: Cattnip. Thank you, everlastingly! :-) 

Summary: Fox has the key to Alex's chains, but Alex holds the key to Fox's heart. 

* * *

Too Late For Sorry

* * *

Alex glowered at the soldiers that warily gripped him. It had taken the sheer weight of bodies to restrain him once the enemy knights had outnumbered his men and surrounded him. He'd killed several men with his sword flashing lethally in hand before they'd managed to unhorse him. 

Bound hand and foot and placed in a wooden cart to transport him, Alex noted with some satisfaction how the soldiers seemed fearful to even be near him, let alone handling him. Well they might, he thought angrily. If they let go of him, at the first chance he would drop them. Slip his bonds and kill them all. He'd struggled so hard that several times they'd nearly lost him. 

The journey from the borderlands of the battlefield to the central city where The Fox's royal court lay was several days and in that time, they'd fed him, watered him and he'd simply sat in the cart, but he was unwashed and the blood and grime from the battle still covered him. Alex was usually a fastidious man; this enforced lack of cleanliness was beginning to take its toll on his temper. He was angry. 

But in his heart, he was afraid. He knew there was no shame in it, for every warrior was afraid of death - courage was the ability to face it in spite of its certainty. He was a man who faced certain death, after all. The Fox would hardly be inclined to be lenient with a prisoner who had led an entire invading army in a decisive strike against his kingdom, let alone who happened to be the assassin who'd killed his father, King William. 

Alex had killed William and managed to escape the castle. The weak, petty tyrant had kept him in an oubliette after Alex had been seized upon his arrival at King William's court bearing an ultimatum from Baron Spender and the other barons, and only by some miracle had Alex managed to convince the guard on duty that his panic attacks brought on by being kept down there were real. It was inhuman, he'd managed to convince the sentry, to keep a knight in a dark hole like that for days on end. The sentry had let him up for a time and had promptly found himself unconscious with Alex out the door. He'd killed the king and dispatched several guards on his way out, securing a horse for himself and making off into the night. 

Escape would be virtually impossible this time however. A pang had gone through him as they'd stripped him of his sword. For a knight to lose his sword was difficult enough, but Alex's sword so far had been his only trusted companion. 

He began to reconsider the wisdom of following Baron Spender's orders to lay siege to the enemy army encamped on the border between their countries. Perhaps it was true that the Baron was a crafty old man, but it was also a fact that he was less than motivated by concern for his country's welfare and more for his own aggrandizement and solidification of his stranglehold on the reins of power. Not to mention the throne. The other barons were still kingless, yet none seemed content to let any of their number actually ascend the throne, still too preoccupied with their personal differences with each other. Spender had capitalized on it to the point of having virtually seized the rule himself. 

Alex had allowed Spender's honeyed words to fire his own ambitions enough to fall in with the old man. The Baron was too old to rule, bound as he was now to sitting in a chair as a helpless invalid and helped everywhere he went, and needed a younger man to do it. Spender had convinced him that he really intended to make him the heir. He'd even drawn up parchment that stated as such. Now Alex realized that paper burns, and Spender had played his supporters against each other; Countess Diana, even his own son Geoffrey, and himself, Alexander. Luckily, the other barons still saw Alex as the greatest obstacle to the throne because he did want the crown. Though he was the youngest man, he was the only one who soldiered and was fighting fit. The other old men were all fat, jaundiced, doddering ancients who didn't deserve to rule. In his mind, anyway. But the men had talked, the enemies who held him during the travel to The Fox's capitol, and he heard how Spender had been furious with him for losing the battle and disinherited him. Fucking snake, Alex thought spitefully. 

War was never popular with the commoners and Alex knew it. He too wondered at how they might end this war quickly. It didn't help that the barons of his own country were too busy warring each other in near-civil war while trying to incur both the favors and support of neighboring realms whilst simultaneously trying to attack The Fox in an attempt to reclaim that kingdom as part of their own. King William had tried to remain apart from the fighting but his own kingdom had a resource none of others had: gold. Gold for mining in the quarries. 

The enmity between Alex's country and The Fox's was old; Alex had overheard some of the common people muttering that it was a shame that Spender had no daughter to offer to The Fox to end the strife and heal the two countries' suffering. 

It might have made no difference however, for all the rumors said The Fox, although known for his sly, cunning intelligence and remarkable instincts, was also known for his predilection for young men. Of course, no-one could prove it, only that the rumors were fuelled by Prince Fox's total lack of interest in any of the ladies ever presented to him and his decline of all of the royal marriages offered over the years. Alex's interest had certainly been piqued at the thought, for The Fox was an excellent specimen, as a man and as the heir to his father's throne. 

The Fox's soldiers were shuffling him into the courtyard of the castle. Several lords and ladies standing idly nearby gasped and craned their heads to gawp at him. Refusing to look at any of them, Alex resolutely scowled straight ahead. 

As they approached the looming gate, Alex gave a token struggle and the soldiers worriedly tightened their hold. They had to approach on foot now that they were within the main courtyard. Alex could feel the man directly behind him press a little too closely. By God, if he kept it up, Alex had half a mind to seek him out later as soon as he had the opportunity to escape and stick a knife in him before leaving. 

But this musing was cut short as they dragged him into a large hall and he caught sight of a gathering of courtiers around a central big chair. There sat The Fox, his regal garments and sly countenance easily recognizable. Alex knew him well in fact, from previous encounters. Although this Prince had always looked down upon him, seemingly ignoring his presence. In remembrance of the slight he'd received at this man's hands previously, not to mention his father's treatment of him, Alex lifted his chin defiantly as they finally brought him to stand before the court of The Fox. 

Prince Fox nodded at them to come closer, so they did, dragging Alex before them. 

Fox sighed, looking him over. "Not a bad attempt, I have to say. Your men fought well, as did you. I hear it took twelve men to restrain you," he remarked in a droll voice that seemed to belie the seriousness of Alex's circumstances with his casual monotone. 

Alex didn't reply, letting his disdain show on his face. But now that he was actually face to face with The Fox, he knew nothing good could come of this meeting. He was captured and this man had more reason than anyone to wish him dead. 

He watched Fox well, attempting to gauge the man's mood. 

Prince Fox continued, "I should have you put to death for the assassination of my father. You've proven previously that any castle incapable of holding you won't keep you for long. You flaunt your disreputable lack of chivalry or code of honor as a knight by refusing to respect the rights of the victor to keep you." 

Alex didn't look down or away, resolutely keeping his head high. He didn't care that his successful escape from King William's dungeon several years before had ruined his reputation among the nobles throughout the lands. But it was true; a knight was expected to remain once he was taken prisoner. Alex sneered at this custom. If the one who held a knight was less than honorable, Alex didn't see why that knight should have to hold to such an outdated, hypocritical law. 

The Fox knew as well as anyone else that King William had been less than worthy to hold the throne. They were all much better off with his son on it. You'd think, Alex thought to himself, that people would be grateful, including Prince Fox himself. After all, Alex had been the unlikely tool of their deliverance from an old man who'd run the castle with an iron fist, and the means of making Fox the new ruler. 

The Prince continued, "Baron Spender named you as the heir to the throne, so you are quite a prize, Alexander. He can't crown himself, not without the other barons' consent. Not only are you his best supporter and general of armies, you're a formidable fighter in your own right. I can see why he's never stepped down as Regent and had you crowned in spite of them. With you installed as the King, the other barons wouldn't have a chance, nor would Spender. The game would be over." 

Alex wondered when the Prince would add some acidic remark to counter the sweetness of his comments. Sure enough, Fox continued, "You'll have time to ponder the folly of listening to that old man, I'm sure." 

Alex stiffened, noting the change in the Prince's face. He held his breath, awaiting the final order to execute him. 

Prince Fox commanded, "Take him to the washroom and strip him. Make sure he's clean before fitting him with the chains." 

Alex's mouth nearly dropped open. Chains? Strip him? His surprise was apparent, obviously, for the Prince looked back at him and said, "Surely you don't think I'm some kind of monster? I don't have my enemies killed or brutalized, unlike some I could mention." 

"But - your father," Alex began. 

Fox gave him a little smile. It wasn't exactly a pleasant expression. "Oh, you'll pay for that. But right now, I just want to enjoy the victory of actually having you in captivity. I'm sure you understand. You're my prize, by right of victory. Your armor will be bloodied and returned to the Baron with the message that you've been taken. Meanwhile, you will stay here as my prisoner and guest. To make sure that you don't escape again, as you have in the past when my father had captured you, and seeing as you know my castle well-enough now to attempt it, I'll be keeping you in my chambers so I can keep a proper eye on you." 

Prince Fox now held up a dagger and considered it, carefully. It was Alex's black-handled silver dagger. He'd been relieved of it along with his other weapons when he'd been captured. A cold fear shot through him as he recognized it and watched how Fox was regarding it. Fox added, "I'll keep this as a souvenir, however, in memory of my father. Take him away." 

The soldiers obediently wheeled him about and dragged him out of the hall. Alex's head was spinning. The Fox was soft; there was no other explanation. He was a fool, to leave Alex alive. First chance he got, he'd be history and back across the border in no time. Woe betide anyone who got in his way, either. He just needed one opportunity. 

But he manfully tried to suppress the bolt of dread that washed over him as he realized that the Prince really did intend to have him stripped, chained and kept in his own chambers. This did not bode well at all. Visions of petty torture and long interrogations filled his mind. 

As he was dragged into the soldier's barracks and the men began divesting him of his tunic, leggings and boots, he coldly held his head high, refusing to meet their eyes. Even so, the hands of a couple of them wandered a bit too freely over his body and he stiffened with outrage and disgust, wondering if he dared to fight. At this point, he'd probably find himself beaten down though. He refused to give them the satisfaction. They scrubbed him clean with tepid water and soap, and toweled him dry. 

It seemed they all gave a collective sigh of relief however, once they fitted the manacles on his ankles and wrists and looped the solid links of the chains through them. He felt like an animal. They began the procession back out into the courtyard and up towards the Prince's apartments. It was humiliating, to be paraded through the castle like this, but Alex could only wonder at the astonishing and perplexing miscalculation on Prince Fox's part in leaving him alive at all. 

The clink and rattle of the chains was loud in his ears as he was hustled into the castle proper, along passageways. The sound of them was enough to remind him that he was entering a strange time where he couldn't predict what might happen. The few women they passed gave startled gasps as they caught sight of him. It would have been amusing if he hadn't been the one they were gawking at. As it was, he could barely keep the blush of humiliation from staining his face as the soldiers chuckled and one of them whistled as a lady passing them tittered. 

Then, they were entering rich apartments, hung with fine tapestries and the rooms were adorned with the best furniture. At the far end of the main chamber was a separate room with a huge bed, open to the rest of the room with an open wall. A heavy velvet curtain was pulled back from across it. Red velvet and brocade was everywhere; it seemed to be The Fox's trademark. Candles flickered in the wall sconces and a fireplace was glowing healthily. He had worried about being cold but the room was warm. 

The soldiers linked the chains through four separate rings inset into the wall and floor along the left wall of the large room into which they had brought him. Muttered ribald comments about The Fox's new toy brought fresh heat to his face and he refused to rise to them. And then he was left alone. 

Alex swallowed, and quickly began to peruse the room. There was nothing close enough at hand that he could reach to even attempt to smash at the chains that held him. He was standing by the wall upon a slightly raised platform covered with a mat. It was obvious that the Prince had ordered it to be made recently and the metal rings to be fitted also, as it was out of place in the room. He must have heard that Alex had been taken prisoner and designed this in the days prior to Alex's arrival. 

Alex didn't know what to make of it. Except that he wasn't happy with this arrangement at all. It was better than being executed, certainly, but then there was no way he could be sure that the prince wouldn't change his mind later, either. 

Alex would never admit it to Spender or to Fox himself, but he hadn't exactly been motivated by impersonal reasons to attack Fox's border in the first place. He had been jealous of The Fox's charisma and popularity. On his first visit to this royal court, both King William and his son had dismissed him as unimportant, making him feel so low that he'd burned with the humiliation of being passed over. True, it had been years ago and he'd been mostly an untried youth. But they were snobs, both of them. He'd vowed to make The Fox take him seriously one day. He had known that Fox's own reputation for fairness and honorable intent had been a virtuous mask that hid what every man held inside: the love of power and the use of it. Like father, like son. And with this petty move here, Alex knew Fox was the same. He ruthlessly squashed the inner voice that sharply reminded him of what people said about The Fox as he'd ascended to the throne: the son was a better man than the old king and was beloved of the people. Serfs in other manors and kingdoms apparently wished that they could have a ruler as fair and decent. 

As he heard footsteps, Alex stiffened. He was suddenly ashamed of his nudity and the chains made him feel even more like a trapped animal. A shiver of fear and doubt shook him. He straightened and decided that whatever The Fox's game was, he wasn't going to break. By God, he would be damned before he let the Prince know how shaken he was by this. 

Prince Fox came into the main chamber, and stopped before him, his hands clasped behind his back. He licked his lips as he looked Alex up and down slowly, and murmured, "Not bad at all. That's a good look on you. You always did have the dark knight down well, but this suits you much better. I think I'll keep you unclothed; you're far too pretty without." 

Alex couldn't contain himself any longer. "So the rumors about you are true," he retorted meaningfully. 

Fox raised his brows in slight surprise. "You have a reputation as a womanizer and a dishonorable knight, so I hardly think you're in a position to judge." 

Alex wanted to snort with derision. Womanizer? Because he'd taken a tumble with a few women in his day? They practically threw themselves at him after all, spouting poetic raptures breathlessly over his 'green eyes and dark looks'. 

Outraged at having been stripped and paraded through the castle into the Prince's own bedchambers, Alex said, "You think people aren't going to talk, now? How naive of you. Keeping naked men chained in your bedroom is hardly appropriate behavior for royalty." 

He congratulated himself on keeping his composure and his bearing despite his circumstances. Alex silently offered up thanks to whatever guardian angel he had that he was still too cold and shriveled with uncertainty and fear at what awaited him to stiffen in arousal in spite of the frankly roving and admiring gaze that Fox kept giving him. The obviously wealthy, well-kept apparel the Prince wore also served to starkly remind Alex all the more of his own nakedness. 

"Incredible," Fox said, with a reminiscent shake of his head. "You really are quite a prize, you know. I could no more have you killed than destroy a priceless work of art. But seeing as I can't have you free and running loose to order up more battles against me, nor can I have you returning to Spender and those barons of his, I'll have to keep you here. It would be strategically unsound, seeing as you're Spender's best knight and heir apparent. And since you won't even hold to the law of chivalry and cannot be trusted to remain as my guest, you'll have to stay bound. Much as it pains me to say it, Alexander, you'll have to keep the chains." 

Fox stepped closer. "Besides, I'd hate to end up the same way as my father, with perhaps this same dagger in my back on the morning of your departure." He took out the knife and palmed it as Alex sucked in a breath, eyeing him warily. 

"You took from me any chance I might have had to heal the rift between my father and me. You may have been under orders to kill him if he refused Spender's ultimatum, but you murdered him in cold blood as he slept. You didn't even give him a fair chance to defend himself." Fox tilted his head to the side, regarding him. "You have no conscience and no heart. I'm going to do you a favor and help you to find your heart. I don't think I can help with the former, however." He took the dagger and thrust it into a low, wooden table far off to Alex's left in the room, leaving it there as a taunt, for Alex couldn't reach the dagger himself. 

Alex growled at this suggestion and said in a menacing voice, "You might want to rethink this plan of yours. If you think I'm going to bend for you, you're wrong. You're wasting your time." 

Delighted, Fox chuckled at him. "Very pretty. With all the flashing green fire in your eyes and the bravado, Alex, you remind me of a panther. I saw one once in a cage, being offered to a Sultan when I was abroad. Istanbul, it was. Where I got my chef. You really are exactly like that caged cat, and just as fierce. You'll have to keep the chains, and I think you really do look better without clothes. You're mine now and as such, I fail to see why I can't keep you just as I please. And it pleases me to strip you of everything except what I give you. But I'll let you keep your name, as a reminder to myself of who you are, why you're here and how dangerous you are." 

This last comment stung badly and Fox's obvious gloating was too much. Alex drew up to the edge of the platform, the chains taut, and he spat at him, following it with a threat. "You should have killed me. There isn't a castle that can keep me and when I return, it will be as master of this kingdom. You'll be the one wearing the chains," he promised. 

Fox carefully wiped his chin and cheek where the flecks of spittle had landed. He stepped back, considering Alex's restrained and raging form. "I don't doubt you mean it. I don't intend to give you the opportunity. But you might want to consider that my army beat yours and as such, you are mine by right of conquest. I could beat you again. Also I don't think you'll have again another chance to try to invade. I will break you, and although it will be difficult, I intend to show you your own heart. You broke mine when you killed my father. Baron Spender's hand may have been behind it, motivated by personal reasons, envying my father's lands and his wife, my mother, but you were the one who planted the dagger." 

"Nothing you do to me will break me," Alex swore. "You're too soft. Living here sitting with your ass on purple cushions has made you soft." 

Fox laughed quietly at him and folded his arms. "I think boredom is going to be your worst enemy," Fox returned. "I have no intention of mistreating you. In fact, your pride is working against you, as you might have enjoyed better here as my guest. You won't believe me, but I've quite admired you, Alexander. I've been following your exploits from afar. It saddens me that I cannot trust you though. I'll leave you to think over your situation while I attend to other more important matters now. Until this evening," and Fox gave him a little mocking salute. Turning on his heel, he left the room. 

Alex couldn't even think of anything to shout after him. He sat down upon the mat, ruefully, with his head in his hands. Much as he hated to admit it, the boredom would take its toll. He was a soldier and having to sit in one place for this long, in chains, it was going to get on his nerves. Not to mention the added pressure of wondering why the Prince was really keeping him here. With Fox out of the room, Alex felt a measure of relief. The man had undeniable grace and dignity and Alex was acutely aware of how attracted he was to The Fox. This was going to be unbearable. He did feel like a chained pet. What if he needed to relieve himself? What if he was hungry? He was totally dependent on The Fox's goodwill and mercy. 

And what had all that been about: Fox would help him find his heart? He HAD a heart. He wasn't sure he liked the sound of it. Fox's unspoken intimation had been that he believed Alex incapable of feeling anything, that Alex had no real feelings - and he surely did. 

The sounds of ordinary evening falling, with people's voices rising up from the courtyard below to reach his ears, reminded him that life went on. 

He sat with his back against the wall, ignoring the slight discomfort of the cold stone as it scraped against his skin. Drawing his knees up to his chest, and wrapping his arms about himself as best he could with the chains encumbering him, Alex leaned his head against his arms and closed his eyes. 

Drifting and dozing fitfully for a time, he knew the hours passed and he began to grow stiff. He'd already spent days and nights traveling in that ridiculous cart and now here he was nude and vulnerable. It was beginning to wear him down, the shame of it all. His happiness and relief at still being allowed to live was leaving. He began to wonder why he'd listened to Spender, when the old man had urged him to attack the border army as it sat there, amassed. He'd convinced Alex that to take out the border would enable them to invade. Damn it, it should be HIM stalking down the corridors of this castle wearing velvet and ordering the people around! 

He mournfully listened to his stomach as it gurgled, emptily. 

The metal of the manacles was beginning to chafe. The chains were too heavy after a while, too. It was a long, long time before the Prince returned. 

Alex was no fool. He knew that part of Fox's intent was to break him with that same aforementioned inactivity. To make him learn to crave the attention of simply having the Prince in his rooms there with him to relieve the boredom. 

He was used to his own company. He could handle this, he could. 

Therefore, he carefully kept any change of expression from his face as Fox finally entered the room. 

Prince Fox was not alone. A short young woman accompanied him. She had dark hair pulled back in a bun and was dressed in a white smock. She seemed ill at ease and flicked nervous glances at Alex before returning to her laden tray which she quickly bore to him. She laid it down and then with a quick curtsey and a muttered 'Highness', she fled the room. 

Laughing, Fox called after her, "Thank you!" Shaking his head, he grinned down at Alex. "You're right. They're going to talk about this. Poor Henrietta." 

Alex stared at the tray. Good ale... he could smell it from where he sat. The roast meat, fresh vegetables, bread and small pastries made his mouth water. He glanced up at Fox, wondering. 

Fox lifted his chin with a casual motion. "Help yourself." He went to the foot of his bed and began stripping. 

Alex hungrily moved to the tray and began eating, giving surreptitious glances over at Fox, who was donning a more casual tunic and leggings. Fox stretched and sat down on the edge of the bed. 

Alex ignored him now and concentrated on eating. Filling his belly at last was the priority. He'd wondered if Fox might make him beg for food. Alex had to admit to himself however that the quality of the food in this place was so much better than what they'd enjoyed at Spender's castle. 

All the barons had a tendency to refuse to share with anyone else, and every one of the manors had a reputation for hoarding the best produce for themselves. With no king to enforce any tax or tithe to the crown, the capitol was bereft of anything they couldn't grow and tend themselves. There were no imports of late, either, due to Baron Spender's inability to encourage any kind of positive diplomatic relations with neighboring kingdoms, let alone between the other barons who all actually hated him. Alex began wondering at the folly of allowing an entire nation to degenerate into a petty handful of squabbling nobles who selfishly ate off the fat of the land until it could no longer support itself. Certainly this Prince had a better thing going, here. 

Fox came towards him with a chair, and sat down in front of him, and notably out of reach of anything he might throw at him, and particularly out of reach of his chained limit. Nonchalantly, Fox watched him eating and remarked, quietly, "You really are beautiful. Especially like this." 

Alex nearly choked and had to swallow a drink of ale in a suddenly dry mouth. Carefully clearing his throat, he gave Fox an accusing glare. "I knew it. Rape by right of conquest, right?" 

Fox raised his brows at him. "Not at all. I'm not a rapist. But you're going to wish I were, by the time I'm through with you. How long has it been since you've had any sexual relief, Alexander?" 

Alex stared back at him. "Long enough," he replied, cautiously. 

Fox nodded. "Good. Because I'm expecting company tonight." 

Alex wanted to laugh and managed to not even crack a smile at this. Did the Prince really think that simply bedding some girl in the royal chambers was going to get him excited? 

Fox must have determined that was exactly what he was thinking, because he said, "I think you'll get tired of watching, after a while." 

Taking the plate and the ale back with him, Alex crawled back over to the wall and leaned against it, his knees drawn up slightly. He ignored Fox completely. 

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Fox called. 

To Alex's surprise, a young man entered, carrying two towels over his arm. Alex watched as he made his way to Fox and gave a little bow. "Your Highness." 

"Ah," Fox said delightedly, "I've been looking forward to this all day." He stood up and began undoing his tunic, going to the bed and laying down upon it, pulling himself up along it further on his elbows before collapsing with a sigh. 

The young man gave a dubious glance at Alex before seating himself at the edge of the bed and apparently dismissing Alex's existence. He laid out one of the towels over Fox's legs and waited as Fox turned and gave him the chance to lay the other towel down, which Fox moved onto. Getting out oil and rubbing it between his hands, the young man began to massage the Prince's back. 

Alex wondered if he was supposed to find himself reacting to this. He was remarkably unmoved, particularly now that he was no longer hungry and feeling more acclimatized to where he was. 

Fox raised his head and called to him, "Alex. He's very good; would you like the same when I'm done?" 

Alex considered this. "No." 

Fox gave him a funny look. "Fine. Your loss." He sank back down with a sigh and relaxed under the talented masseuse's hands. 

Alex began to wonder at the wisdom of playing obstinate with this situation of his. But he didn't want to soften. He didn't want to start enjoying himself here. He couldn't take it for granted, after all. There was still that dagger sticking out of the wood of the table near him. Near enough to remind him, anyway. 

The occasional soft moan of contentment that Fox emitted was starting something akin to nervous excitement in the pit of his belly, however. The sound of Fox's voice, brushing over him, it was a little unsettling. He ignored it and hardened himself against falling into any interest in the Prince. But he had to wonder what the Prince had meant. Help him to find his heart? And what was that about wishing he was a rapist? Good Lord above, Fox was worse than naive if he imagined that simply flashing his body at Alex was going to move him to piteous begging for sexual release. Alex finished his meal and drained the goblet of ale, setting both to the side as far he could from himself. 

Finally, the young man seemed to be done and he withdrew, pulling up the towels and seemingly unable to leave the royal apartments fast enough. 

Fox lay there for a time before stirring enough once more to pull on his tunic. He stopped, tunic in hand, and got up instead. He dropped the tunic, remained in his leggings, and glanced at Alex. With a mischievous grin, Fox picked up a pair of fur mittens. He padded over to Alex, stepping up onto the platform itself, knocking the tray to the side with his foot. 

Alex tensed, looking up at his sudden approach. 

"Get up," Fox ordered, the intent in his voice suddenly making the hair on the back of Alex's neck stand up. 

"Why?" he asked, wary. 

"Look, just stand up, or I can have the guards come in and get you to your feet," Fox pointed out, impatiently. 

Alex stood, slowly, his joints cracking. Fox was standing so close, that he might be able to knock him unconscious or even use the chains against him. But he realized if he did anything to hurt him... Hell, if he killed him, Alex would undoubtedly be put to death immediately. He would never leave the room alive. With a sigh, he realized he was very glad to have a good reason not to hurt him. Fox's words from before returned, about not wanting to destroy a piece of art. Fox was certainly a prize, himself. Regardless of what lay between them, Alex had to admit that. 

"Look at me," Fox's voice commanded, softly. 

Alex looked directly into Fox's face, seeing those sharp eyes staring back at him. He had to stifle a gasp at the look in them. Fox stepped closer, pulling on both fur mitts. Fox smiled now, and it wasn't exactly nice. He reached out to touch Alex on the right arm, near his shoulder and Alex had to stop himself from flinching. With a frown, he looked down at it. 

The softness of the fur was abruptly sensual and warm against his bare skin. He raised startled eyes back to Fox, who murmured knowingly, "Rabbit. It's rabbit." With a long, slow slide of the mitt down Alex's arm and back up to his chest, Fox now brought his other hand up and slid it across Alex's chest and down to his hip. 

Alex gasped at this, unable to help himself. To his shame, he found his nipples hardening and his cock lifted. A shiver ran over his skin and all over the rest of him and everywhere the fur wasn't touching, slowly sliding and caressing him, he ached. 

Fox licked his lips slowly, watching Alex's reactions as Alex tried not to wince with pleasure at the touch of the fur over his belly, across his waist to his other hip, down his leg. Fox moved closer, standing so close that Alex could feel the body heat emanating from him against his own bare skin. He could smell the spicy, almost musky vanilla scent rising from Fox's body and it swam in his nostrils, making him dizzy. He wanted to close his eyes and with every breath he took he couldn't help enjoying the fragrance. 

This was bad. This was very bad. He'd expected beatings, rape; torture even. He'd thought that the gentle approach would be unable to move him. The fur gloves moved maddeningly over his body, back and front, all the way down to his thighs, softly whispering with agonizingly sweet slowness even over his groin, over his cock, and the warmth and sensuality of Fox's motions on his body were starting to make him tremble. 

He'd never been touched like this, ever. Not the most talented courtesan or eager wench had ever been able to move him so surely. It wasn't just touch, it was the intent to pleasure him that was undoing him. To have this man, this powerful and gorgeous man, touching him in this way, petting him and pleasuring him so specifically, it was enough to undo his resolve. 

It's only natural, he reminded himself, breathlessly. He couldn't help his body's reactions. Pleasure was pleasure. 

But his inner voice cried out with anguish suddenly that his own pride was the only thing stopping him from closing that last three inches from Fox's body and making contact with that deliciously bare skin. He was tingling from head to toe and couldn't tear his eyes from Fox's lower lip, still glistening where Fox had licked it. 

Fox abruptly moved back, stepping away from him and Alex couldn't help a moan of loss as the gloves were gone. 

With a teasing sparkle in his eyes, Fox regarded him, taking in his quivering cock and his flushed face. "Much better," he said. Then he removed the mittens and threw them to the side of the platform, stepped off it and went to a long bell cord. Pulling it, he turned to the fireplace and began to poke at it with the nearby poker. 

Soon, a woman entered the room. She wore a long gown, a headdress and had long, curly blond hair. Alex figured she had to be one of the courtiers. She said, "Your Highness." Her voice dripped with gaiety and anticipation. She caught sight of Alex standing there naked and uncertain. She sucked in a breath. "My, oh my," she said. 

"He's pretty, isn't he?" Fox asked, with a note of pride in his voice. 

She grinned openly at Alex. "Very." 

"Where are my manners?" Fox suddenly said, in voice that reeked with insincerity. "Alexander, this is Lady Marita, recently of old Neville's court. She's decided to turn to our cause against Baron Spender. Turns out Baron Neville never really agreed with Spender's agenda after all." 

"The famous Alexander," Marita purred. "Or, notorious, I should say. I saw you when Neville first presented you to Spender's court," she added. "I wondered what kind of man you would turn into. Even then, you had potential." 

Then, with a cool air, she turned from him and went back to Fox. He was dismissed, obviously. It was obvious she was meeting the Prince here for dalliance, and more than just for political concord. Still, Alex couldn't help feeling angry and bereft. Fox and Lady Marita adjourned to the bed, letting the tapestry fall behind them. He heard his name murmured behind the curtain, muffled as it was, several times amidst indistinct phrases he couldn't catch. 

He sighed to himself. This was tedious. It was worse than if he were being tormented - even by those blasted furry mittens. Maybe that was the intent. The Prince's comment about boredom rang in his ears. 

But soon the voices lowered and he couldn't hear them. For a while, he only heard the occasional chuckle or loud whisper. Eventually, the whispers, giggles and sounds turned serious and the age-old, familiar sound of two bodies moving in unison soon reached his ears. 

He began to wish he could watch, if he couldn't take part, for his mind had to fill in the blanks in the absence of the sight of them together, but the sounds were tantalizingly loud enough to ensure his erection did not flag. 

His arousal was buzzing in his bloodstream and he wondered why he was feeling simultaneously jealous and left out. Angrily, he went to sit back down, and finally with a silent curse at himself and at Fox, he began to pull on his cock. It didn't take him long and he shuddered to a climax even as the noises of the two lovers behind the curtain also rose to a heated peak and then died away. 

A little while later, Marita slipped out from behind the curtain, came up to where he had slumped down upon the mat into a curled position, and whispered, "I'm glad you survived, Alexander. It would have been a great loss to the world if you had met your death in that battle. And you couldn't have ended up in better hands. Take heart." She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek and then silently left the Prince's apartments. 

He thought about it for a while. He came to the conclusion that she was right; of all the men he might have been captured by, Prince Fox was indeed the most fair and honest of them. 

The self-same Prince suddenly poked his head out from behind the curtain. "I hope you appreciate the efforts I'm going to here, on your behalf." 

Alex wanted to laugh. He managed to not grin. Then he considered the mat on the floor. "Am I supposed to just sleep on the floor? Don't I even get a pillow? Even pets get pillows." 

Fox stared back at him and then disappeared. He reappeared a few moments later with a red cushion, which he threw towards Alex. It landed on the platform before him. With a twist of his lips into a smirk, Fox said, "Goodnight, Alex." He withdrew once more. 

Bastard. Alex reached for the cushion, his chains clinking in the silence of the dark. He could sit there rattling them and getting on the Prince's nerves, but really at this late hour, what would be the point? He was tired anyway. The Fox would tire of this silly game at any length. 

Glumly, he considered the way that Fox seemed to think he had no heart. Why was that important? The only outcome he could imagine was that the Prince intended to make him desire him and then to break his heart in retaliation for having killed his father, the king. It seemed petty and spiteful, and completely unrealistic. How could Fox believe he'd make him fall for him this way? Besides, even swift execution seemed fairer than some cruel game. For what other end could he expect otherwise, apart from being cast down into the pit once more? 

The thought of the oubliette made him shudder. Being returned to it was almost enough to break him then and there. He wondered how much he would have to push Fox before he'd have Alex cast back into it. For no other place could hold him, that was certain. He could always find a way out of a cell. Unless he was kept in these chains. There were always opportunities though. He didn't care if he had to wait years. 

Wait a minute, he thought. Here he was considering the worst options, when he was sleeping in the Prince's own chambers. He frowned, wondering why Fox would bother keeping someone as dangerous as himself. He remembered Fox's words of the panther. Maybe it was the sport of it; the thrill Fox got from it. His prize, he'd said. Yes, the Prince was getting off on the triumph of his trophy. That was all. 

Alex wondered if he managed to escape, how easy it would be to return and capture The Fox, himself. Yes, that was a lovely thought; return and subject the Prince to the very same indignities...and pleasures. Fox in chains. That was a daydream worthy of smiling about and his smile lingered long as Alex drifted off into sleep. 

The fire died eventually and as he slept, Alex began to shiver. Sudden, heavy warmth descended on him and he was startled awake, as Fox leaned over him with a woolen blanket. Fox silently ensured he was tucked in and then left for his own bed once more. 

Alex lay with his eyes open for a long time. 

* * *

Morning birds finally roused him from sluggish sleep. The heavy wool blanket on his bare skin was scratching him and he groaned. 

Suddenly it was lifted away. "Rise and shine," Fox's too-cheerful voice dug at him. 

Alex blinked, hating the way the manacles bit into his wrists and ankles. "The Devil take you, you Godforsaken sadistic pervert." He was sick of this entire situation and he was stiff all over. 

"Tsk, tsk," Fox clucked at him with his tongue. "Bad, bad, bad. I wonder if you even deserve breakfast for that. I don't think so. You'll have to wait for the noonday meal. I'll send for you when I think you're ready to eat." He tilted his head and regarded Alex. 

Alex scowled up at him. He lay his head back down and closed his eyes. "Piss off." 

A few moments later, the sudden splash of cold water in his face and over the rest of him was enough to shock him into getting to his feet with outrage. Spluttering indignantly, he yelled at Fox who stood with the dripping, empty bucket smiling at him. "Fuck!" 

"Are you thirsty, Alex?" 

"Fucking bastard!" he roared. Wiping his face, breathing hard, Alex considered Fox through blinking eyes, as the water dripped off his hair. 

Fox's eyes narrowed. "Nope. No breakfast for you. I'll see you downstairs later. But first, you need to relieve yourself. Don't you?" 

He called in two guards. "Shorten his chains. I want him up against the wall." 

The guards did so, leaving Alex standing against the cold stone of the wall behind him, hating Fox with a passion, making a token struggle and having the single satisfaction of hearing one of them curse under his breath and he rattled the chains and pulled on them. His arms were pulled back, and his legs were even held slightly apart. Alex couldn't think of any encouraging reason as to why the Prince would want him kept like this. As the guards left, Alex hissed at Fox, "You're a dead man." 

"And you are a bad boy," Fox quipped, smiling at him. He stepped close to Alex's now wet and cold body, and placed his warm hands upon Alex's waist. 

A sudden shock of anticipatory horror went through Alex. Fox was standing too close. Way too close. Alex met his eyes though, resentfully, scornfully. 

With both thumbs, Fox pressed on his lower belly. Alex's bladder was indeed full and he bit back a moan. "You need to go, don't you?" Fox leaned into him even closer, letting his body press Alex back into the wall, trapping him against the cold stone. 

The sheer frustration of Fox's needling of him, and the shame of being naked against Fox's clothed form, as well as the indignation that still surged through him at his rude awakening, mingled with the need to go, it all began to crash down upon him. He wanted to sob suddenly, and realized he was very close to breaking down. 

He knew that Fox really was softer than any other captor might have been, and the need to just let his prideful wall down and start building some kind of trust between them was nearly overwhelming. But the way Fox was using his own feelings against him was nettling to say the least. And hypocritical when Fox was supposed to be this caring, honorable ruler. Shaking, he tried to ignore the fact that Fox was standing so close to him that he was pressed up against the front of him. The feel of Fox against him was simultaneously wonderful and yet mortifying. 

With another inexorable press of his thumbs against Alex's full bladder, Fox murmured low in Alex's ear, "I'm not going to leave here until you've gone. Go on, Alex, you have to. Just do it." 

Alex swallowed at the knowledge of what Fox expected of him, and then jumped as Fox's right hand abruptly left his side to grasp his cock. He almost groaned at the touch of Fox's hand upon it. "Why?" he whispered suddenly, in despair. 

"Because you want to, and I want you to," Fox whispered back, his voice tickling Alex's ear and making him shiver suddenly from more than the cold. 

"I can't," Alex said, feeling overwhelmingly and unbearably vulnerable suddenly, with Fox up against him like this, holding his prick and basically ordering him to - no, inviting him! - to urinate against him. "I can't!" 

"Sure you can," Fox urged. "You know you want to." He moved lower, abruptly pressing his lips to Alex's bare neck, and mouthing the skin there, licking at the skin and then sucking at his neck as Alex moaned. 

"I- no, I can't, not like this," he said, desperately, aghast as he thrust forward into Fox's grip despite himself. He was starting to get hard. 

"Sure you can. Do it. Let go with me." Fox began sucking hard on his neck, and then moved to lick at the other side of his throat, trailing his lips as he went. 

Alex couldn't breathe. Helplessly, he felt the urge to go was somehow tied to the arousal that was rising as Fox continued to kiss and bite at him. 

This sudden onslaught after the rage he'd felt was swiftly undoing his resolve to remain unaffected by whatever Fox did to him. 

The word 'please' nearly tumbled from his lips and the combined need to go, with the urge to strain to not go, was warring within him. He was nearly shaking from it. He was tight, drawn up against it and yet the insistent need to go now was nearly a scream in his body. Surely it would be all right... he had no choice after all. It wasn't his fault. 

"No!" he exclaimed, in perfect distress now. 

Fox's mouth was suddenly upon his, his tongue moving wetly into Alex's mouth, licking at his lips and seeking Alex's tongue, as he gripped Alex's cock harder and firmly pressed his other hand, palm open, into Alex's lower belly. The pressure was too much. 

Alex wanted to gasp but he couldn't draw breath with Fox's mouth on him, and his mind was seized in some fever-grip. Fox's hand upon his organ was too pleasurable, and his bladder was too full, and for whatever reason or humiliating attempt to degrade him, Fox wanted him to do it, so finally Alex let loose. The need to go was almost painful now. In fact, it was painful - he nearly cried out from it. 

Shaking, he began to piss. Heat ripped through him. Fox pulled on his cock now, his lips never leaving Alex's. Wracked with the pleasure of release and the horrifyingly delicious sensation of being claimed, Alex pushed into Fox, jerkily. Possessing his mouth, Fox kept him up against the wall. All of a sudden, it wasn't about shame, or pleasure, or even where they were. All there was in the world was the two of them, Fox and him, with Fox urging him on, his hand working his cock and kissing, kissing, kissing him. Alex wasn't sure if he had pissed or come or both, somehow. Maybe he'd come first. Or afterward. He couldn't even tell. 

Finally he came to a halt, drained. The shame that colored his face was hot and he shut his eyes tightly as Fox's mouth left his. Still, Fox didn't move away. Alex was glad. But he couldn't help his helpless whimper as Fox stayed there, and Fox's voice came to him, "You're beautiful like this. It would almost be worth making you do it every time." 

The embarrassment that came upon the heels of Fox's words was enough to make him flinch in Fox's grasp. Fox let go of his softening penis. Both his hands went to Alex's waist once more, too easily and possessively for Alex to blot it out. He didn't respond though. 

Fox kissed him again, slowly, and he secretly savored the intimacy of it, the - 

The attention. 

Oh no. It was too late, Alex realized. He'd already broken. Fuck. This was not good. He jerked and pulled his face away to the side. He couldn't let him know. 

Fox stepped away from him and mournfully looked down at his sodden garments. "Great. Now I have to bathe and change all over again. See you later, Alex." He turned and left the room. 

Right. As if it hadn't been Fox's idea in the first place. Alex felt a resultant surge of anger in the wake of Fox's remark. 

Alex stood there, shivering from the cold as the droplets ran down his skin and blinking at the supreme horror that his captivity had suddenly become. 

* * *

Alex had been drifting and was startled awake by the entry of the maid Henrietta, as she entered the room. She busied herself with tidying up the room, and came to collect the tray and the empty plate and goblet from where he was, last of all. She didn't look at him. Her face was scarlet. 

He cleared his throat. "I wouldn't hurt you, you know. That's not why I'm chained like this." 

Henrietta glanced at him. She said, rather breathlessly, "I know." 

He wrinkled his brow. "You do?" The thought of her fear of him was suddenly more agreeable in the wake of discovering she might not be afraid. 

"Yes. His Highness said you were an escape artist." 

"He did?" Alex began wondering what The Fox had been telling people as a rational explanation for why he was keeping Alex chained up here, naked in his chambers. 

Henrietta nodded, an almost shy smile twitching upon her lips as she flushed even harder at the fact that she was only a few feet from his naked, restrained form. "He said I have to bathe you." 

Alex let out a breath of frustration. "Great. He didn't happen to mention why I have to stay like this, did he?" 

Henrietta's eyes were positively dancing now. Alex began to have the uncomfortable feeling that she wasn't blushing and agitated from any fear of him at all. She bit her lip and said, "He said you were the most valuable thing he owned and that he was trusting me to do a good job." 

Alex's uncomfortable feeling grew in proportion with her words. "A good job," he repeated. 

"With your bath, my lord." She gave a little curtsey and then left the room. She returned not long after with a large bucket of steaming hot water and a small cloth as well as a dish of soap. 

She didn't seem to mind touching him at all, and her deft, small hands were soon washing him clean. He began to wonder if it was worth resisting. Still, he was glad that his residual shame at his predicament enabled him to remain unmoved by her presence. Or maybe it was that she wasn't his type. Or maybe even that she wasn't Fox... 

He let out a breath. She halted in her ministrations. Worried, she asked, "Are you alright?" 

"I'm fine," he said, with a self-mocking tone. "Just fine. Haven't had this much fun in years." 

Henrietta giggled at him, continuing with even strokes of the hot cloth down his legs. "I think the Prince is quite taken with you," she offered. "He's all distracted and can't even concentrate properly. The poor Steward downstairs had to repeat everything he said at least three times before the Prince heard him." 

"Indeed?" Alex perked up, considerably heartened by this tidbit. 

With a little smirk now, Henrietta caught his eye with a flustered bite of her lower lip. "I can't say that I blame him," she said. Then she picked up the bucket and began to move away. She put it by the door and then went into the bedroom to make up the bed. 

She pulled the curtain back and fastened it with the sash. "Do you want some water? Are you thirsty?" 

"Yes, please," Alex said. He caught himself, then inwardly shrugged. No sense in alienating people who might be useful in sympathizing with him. 

She brought him water and held it to his lips. As he drank, she said, "There's an everyday meal before noon. Everyone is quite excited because his Highness said he'd have you brought down to eat." 

Alex almost choked. He looked at her, startled. "Down- downstairs? What, in public?" 

She grinned. "Yes. Don't worry. Everyone is very happy for the Prince. This is the first time he's been happy since his father's death. Having you here seems to have cheered him up." 

She tripped away, saying, "See you later." 

Alex watched her go, feeling the strangeness course through him. Surely- 

Surely The Fox couldn't mean to drag him down there as he was? Naked? And in chains? The humiliation even at the thought of it was more than he could bear. Anger rippled through him at it. He swallowed at the bile that rose. He couldn't believe that the Prince could even think to do it. This was the fair and just man that everyone claimed? It was one thing to be naked and restrained in his private chambers; it was another to be shown off like some kind of...animal, on display. 

Determination swept through him. So far, he had not actually broken. Not really. He had reacted, not consciously responded. He hadn't submitted. And he wouldn't. Give me just once chance to escape, he prayed. 

* * *

Fox sat at the head of the table, not seeing the rest of the room. The gathering of people drifted to and from the table, moving back and forth from the laden piles of fruits, plates of meats, cheeses, the flagons of spiced wines. He had hardly touched his own, however. 

His Head Steward, Byers, was standing slightly behind him and to his right, in stiff disapproval. "Your Highness, you still haven't answered my question." 

"Which one?" he asked, distractedly. 

Byers cast his eyes heavenward. 

From beside him on his left, visiting Lord Skinner turned to his Lady, Dana, and murmured, loudly enough for Fox to overhear, "I think he's in love." 

Fox turned with a frown. "What?" he demanded. 

"Oh, come on," Lady Dana said, with a cool demeanor and a mischievous eye. "You promised to show him to us and you still haven't sent for him." 

"I'm drawing it out," he murmured, by way of explanation. 

"Obviously," muttered Walter, lifting his goblet of wine to his lips. "I've never seen you like this." 

"Never," Dana agreed. 

Byers cleared his throat. "Your Highness? May I just go ahead and implement all of these plans? Do you even want to see them?" 

"I trust your judgment, as always." Fox wondered if he were doing the best thing in bringing Alexander down here. After all, he rather liked the idea of keeping him up there for himself. He wasn't at all sure it would be right, to share him with others. Walter and Dana had evinced far too much curiosity so far. 

"Fine," snapped Byers, moving away finally. 

"Have a heart, Fox," Dana said. "He's only doing his job." 

"So am I," murmured Fox. 

"Not if you ask me," Walter said. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" Fox didn't look at him. He felt a flutter of excitement twist through his stomach at the thought of ordering the guards to go get Alex. Not yet. Not just yet. He was enjoying waiting too much. 

The suspense was enough to make him light-headed. Just the thought of seeing him again was too much. Fox wondered if it were wise to keep the man at all. Maybe the others were right. Byers was convinced it was wrong simply because it had impaired his ability to concentrate. Skinner was openly accusing him of being in love. It wasn't love. Well, maybe a little. Infatuation, certainly. And who could blame him? A broad smile crossed his face, unbidden. Alex was so beautiful, after all. Those flashing green eyes, that dark sullen glower, and that beautiful expression of longing he thought Fox couldn't see. But he could. Oh yes. He would make Alex want him. He already did, in fact. He- 

"Highness?" 

He started. Staring over at Lord Skinner, he said, "What is it?" 

Dana was laughing into her drink. 

Walter repeated, "I said, why don't you send for him now? He's obviously all you can think of. Let's see this prize of yours." 

Fox sighed. "Alright, damn it. Can't even let me have a few moments to enjoy the suspense." He waved a guard over. "Bring him down," he ordered. "And remember, he's dangerous, so be careful," he called. 

"At last," Walter breathed in mock relief. "Christ above, you'd think I was suggesting insurrection. He's just a prisoner." 

Dana was still sniggering at him. 

Fox glared at her. "It isn't funny." 

"Oh, I disagree," said Lady Marita on his left with a smile. 

Squirming in his seat, Fox said, "Fine. Laugh at me. All of you. You won't be laughing long. Not when you see him." 

"I have seen him, and it's still remarkable, Fox, how he's captured your attention." Marita calmly began to move her plate to her right. Then her goblet. She got up and sat in the next chair along. 

Watching her, Fox frowned. "What are you doing?" 

"Making room," she said. The sound of chains was heard. "Surely you don't want him on the floor? It will be statement enough to have him here without clothing." 

Good idea, he thought. To actually have him in the chair would be more of a statement than even having him at his feet. 

Sure enough, the guards returned to the dining hall with a furious Alex between them. It took three of them. He was definitely unhappy, naked, and flushed with embarrassment. Fox waved them over to the recently vacated chair. 

Once they'd seated him, Alex's hands were chained to the arms of the chair, and his ankles secured. His eyes were dark and angry. 

Fox found him breathtaking like this. It had been worth it just to see him so enraged. The color was dancing high in his face, too. Fox found him intoxicating. He looked around the table. People were shocked, some openly staring, others looking anywhere but at Alex and himself. 

Walter and Dana, his lifelong friends, were staring outright with undisguised admiration. Marita laid a hand upon Alex's right arm and whispered something to him. Whatever it was, Alex visibly relaxed a fraction. 

He looked over at Fox, who looked back. 

Fox was lost. God, those eyelashes of his were sinfully long. To have them on a face so masculine but pretty was... almost an affront. How was he expected to resist such a countenance? 

Alex said, in a low undertone, "You'll pay for this." His eyes flashed that green fire that Fox loved so well. 

"I'm sure." Fox wondered if he could get away with kissing him here in front of everyone. That might be overdoing it, though. Public humiliation of a captive enemy who'd killed his father and attempted to invade his country, yes. But outright fondling of him in front of them all might not be as understandable. Especially by those who might be pushed to the limits of envy. He grinned. 

Alex mistook his grin for mockery and tore his eyes away, flushing with rage once more. 

Nervous, stiff disapproval from some ladies present was mixed with the outright grins of others, as well as from some of the men. 

Walter cleared his throat. "Very fetching, your Highness. You're to be congratulated. Quite the trophy, I agree. Your description didn't do him justice." 

"Yes, the chains are a nice touch," remarked Dana. 

"They're a necessity, I'm afraid," Fox replied. 

"Damn right," agreed Alex, fervently. 

Dana laid a hand upon her breast at this. She seemed to be breathing harder. 

Walter licked his lips, scrutinizing Fox's prize with an overly appreciative eye. "I'm surprised you don't have armies beating down the castle gates to get to him." 

Alex's expression hardened. 

Fox turned on Walter. "You're upsetting him," he admonished. Walter and Dana exchanged looks of disbelief as Fox turned back to Alex. He began to slide his plate closer to Alex, along the table. 

Alex looked down at it, then back up at him. "If you think I'm going to make a spectacle of myself and eat from the plate like a dog, you have another thing coming. I'd rather starve." 

Taken aback, Fox said, "I had no expectations of the like. I merely wanted to feed you." He picked up a particularly succulent piece of roast from his own plate, smeared it with gravy juices and then lifted it to Alex's mouth, watching to see if he would accept it. 

For a few heart-stopping moments, Alex's gaze met his and he could see the thoughts churning behind those expressive eyes. Then, Alex parted his lips and took the meat from Fox's fingers. Fox felt the stab of lust directly to his groin. It was the most erotic act that he could ever have imagined, and considering the scene upstairs earlier, that was really saying something. 

To his left, Walter let out a breath. "Christ, Fox; do you want a riot?" 

All sense of propriety seemed to have fled and it was all Fox could do not to leave and have Alex brought upstairs with him. But he'd promised himself he would do this properly, and draw it out so that it lasted. Once he'd had him, Alex was lost to him. He knew that now. He had to draw it out so that when he took him, Alex was begging for it. Otherwise the game was up. He couldn't afford to fall for him. He wasn't in love, just...in lust. He picked up another piece of meat and offered it to Alex in silence again, loving the way Alex was watching him the whole time, obviously gauging how much of a scene he could make just by quietly accepting the food from Fox's hands. 

This time, as Fox was about to withdraw his fingers, he felt Alex's tongue lick at them. He almost shuddered at it. 

He narrowed his gaze at Alex who met his eyes innocently enough, although he could swear there was a challenge in them now. He turned to the plate again, this time selecting a slice of cheese and apple. Offering them to Alex, he watched entranced as those pretty pink lips parted to take them, nibbling. 

Oh, this was too much. It was simply too much. The others thought so too, apparently. 

"You've made your point," Marita said. 

"Yes, quite," joined Dana from the other side of him. 

"But he's hardly eaten a thing," Fox protested to either side. 

"For God's sake, take him back up and have him fed there," Walter said. "If you can bear to be out of his presence for the duration of the meal." 

"He stays," Fox said, resolutely. He selected another piece of meat and fed it to Alex, who took it this time with something of a smirk. 

This was turning against him. Fox wondered if he could have Alex taken away without any loss of face at this point. He began to feel that the situation had shifted. Maybe he was making too much of a spectacle of this. "Very well," he grumbled. 

The mournful look of distress on Alex's face as the guards came to remove him was almost too much for Fox to take. But Walter was right. Regretfully, Fox said, "Take him back upstairs. But take him food as well. Make sure he gets plenty. I don't want him starving." 

The guards nodded assent and began to undo the chains. Alex's expression of despair quickly turned to anger, hardening once more. Publicly shamed, only to be dismissed too early... Alex was going to hate him for this. 

He hated himself for it. Fox wondered why he couldn't just - take him and be done with it. 

Obviously Walter and Dana were wondering the same thing. 

"You must really have it bad for him," Walter said. "You're bungling it up badly." 

"I can't say I've ever seen you like this before," Dana put in, reflectively. 

In an attempt to explain himself, Fox picked up his goblet, saying, "I have to break him. He's my prisoner, and it's up to me to decide how long it takes. The longer, the better." 

"Why?" Walter asked, outright. "You're just tormenting yourself, and him." 

Fox shook his head. "He's a proud man. And untrustworthy. Even if he breaks, I'll never be able to let him loose. He'd leave, instantly. And I'll have twice the menace on my hands that he was. Besides, he'll go running back to Spender's side, regardless of how much he hates him." 

"How can you be so sure?" Marita asked. 

"I'm not," he said, looking back at her. "I'm not sure of anything anymore," he admitted. 

"Far be it from us to suggest what the best method of dealing with him might be," said Dana. 

"If you have something in mind, just spit it out and stop dancing around it," Fox said, smoothly, not a trace of ire in his voice but it was apparent just the same. 

"Easy, your Highness," Walter said, coming to the defense of his lady. "We're your friends. He's the enemy, remember?" 

"He's mine," Fox said. 

"That's not in doubt," Walter said. "What is, is your judgment." 

"We're not saying you're doing the wrong thing," Dana said. "It's just that you seem to be falling for him instead of making him fall for you. He's holding the upper hand. You are right, he IS proud. But he's proud enough to withstand even a humiliation like the one you've just given him." 

"I suppose you'd do better," Fox commented, sulking now. 

"We would," Walter stated. 

Fox abruptly stood, pushing back his chair. "Much as I would like to be able to give you the chance to prove that, I can't. I'm committed to this now. Giving him over to someone else will destroy what ground I've gained." 

Walter chuckled. 

"Naturally," Dana commented with a smile. 

"Well, it would," he insisted. 

"Sure, Fox. No one's arguing it," Walter said. But there was a note of compassion and condescension in his voice that nettled Fox. 

"Time's on my side, not his," he said. And he left the table. But as he did, he knew he was wrong. For the longer he took, the more he wanted him. It was all his fault. And the fault of those green eyes of his. The son of a bitch had taken over his mind and now his heart. He tried to stave off the excitement he felt at going up to see him. 

But as he made his way up after them, a guard suddenly staggered in front of him with a bleeding head wound. "H-highness," he managed, hoarsely. "The- prisoner..." he staggered. 

"What happened?!" He caught the man as he fell. 

"Hit me...on the head and pushed the other into the wall. I was, carrying the food and he...he managed to push me against the wall. He knocked them out. He was like a tiger, Highness, I swear! We couldn't restr-res- stop him. He took the k-key to the shackles. He's gone -somewhere, in - the castle grounds," managed the guard who was starting to concuss. 

Sure enough, he could hear the alarm being called. With a dire oath, Fox helped the man to the ground and said, "We'll have someone see to your wound." He called for help, and a lady rushed to the fallen guard. 

He ran out into the courtyard, down to where the Captain of the Guard was already getting astride his horse. 

"He can't get far as he is," Fox called. "I want him alive, and as unharmed as possible." 

"Yes, Highness," the Captain agreed, quickly spurring his horse out of the courtyard and beyond the gate. 

How the hell had Alexander managed to get naked out of the grounds? Fox was bemused. 

The answer came later when one of the three guards Alex had overpowered revealed he'd been stripped down even to his linens. Alex had made his way out of the castle simply by posing as a guard. 

Fox was furious at how much it hurt to know that Alex was gone. He ordered more soldiers out of the castle to search the immediate grounds and the road leading down to the town. 

Half an hour had passed as Fox paced the ramparts. Marita and Byers came to stand beside him where he stood, waiting and watching from the battlements. "Any sign of them?" Marita asked. 

Fox shook his head. "They're still searching." 

Byers cleared his throat. "It's possible that they still might find him." 

"Time's on his side," Fox said. "The longer it takes, the farther he gets." 

"Why not try to bring him over to your side? If you want to keep him; as a consort, if nothing else." Marita was calm and logical, as always. 

"There's still that little matter of trust," he pointed out. "Besides, he killed my father. How can I trust someone who can kill in cold blood like that? It wasn't even a duel. And at the moment, he's merely an enemy. It's not like I mean anything to him. The only way I can keep him is as a prisoner." 

"He isn't stupid. He can be reasoned with, and shown the benefit in working with you," she said. 

"I hope you're right. But it's a moot point if he's gone. He'll be on his way to Spender once more. The next time I'm likely to see him is at the head of another army." 

But then he caught sight of the Captain of the Guard returning up the road. 

Byers stared down at them. "I believe they've found him!" 

Fox peered down, noting the figure that the soldiers bore between them on horseback, slung over the back of the horse, bound hand and foot. As his heart gave an exultant leap in his chest, Fox went down to meet them. Fortune had smiled on him, indeed. 

But it had been close. Too close, by far. Fox realized he had nearly lost him and the relief at having regained him was now making him lightheaded. He pushed away what this meant in terms of his heart. He cared too much and it was making him reckless. He couldn't afford to take any chances. He refused to examine how much it hurt that he wanted to have Alex for himself. Damn Walter and Dana; they're comments rang shrilly in his ears. He wasn't in love. He wasn't. 

Alex must have been spotted by one of the groups of soldiers in the town as he began to near it on the main road. Fox wondered how he was going to handle this; in the light of Alex's near escape, it was obvious that Walter and the others were right. He was nowhere near to breaking Alex and what ground he'd gained already was now lost, as Alex would be flushed with the near-success of his escape attempt and filled with renewed fury at having been recaptured. 

He steeled himself to having to take steps. He had shown too much care. Alex was right; he'd been too soft with him. He hardened his heart. And tried to ignore that pain that blossomed behind the wall he erected around it. 

* * *

Alex was unsurprised to find himself taken to the dungeon this time. He hadn't even seen Prince Fox. Terror briefly gripped him as he considered the oubliette, but to his relief, he was merely taken to a cell. 

The chains were predominant this time, and he was stripped again, although this time he was thankfully left with the linen undergarments he'd stolen from the guard. 

With a bitter smile, he realized Fox had finally come to his senses. He was, however, surprised that as his incarceration continued late into the afternoon and finally entered evening, no word came from the Prince. Nothing. 

As night fell, he began to regret having tried to escape, if for the continued comfort of being chained to the Prince's wall if nothing else, as the cell really was confining, dirty, dark and absurdly lonely. But it made more sense, somehow. It seemed more real and less dangerous than being up in the Prince's bedchamber. 

He slept fitfully on the hard floor of the cell strewn with old straw, sighing with the memory of the Prince's bed, and wondering what it would have been like to actually be allowed to join him in it. 

Night passed so slowly. It was a long time before he could fall asleep. 

In the morning, he awoke as if from a bad dream, and then remembered where he was. The smell in his nostrils was terrible. He still hadn't grown used to it. He wondered how long Fox might decide to leave him there. Certainly the Prince understood now that the attention truly was better than leaving him alone to wonder how long he'd have to wait. 

He had to admit it was working. By midday he was so hungry and restless that he began to pace the cell, even enjoying the clinking of the chains. 

The hours passed, the distant sounds of the occasional passing people in the corridors far away seemed muted and faint, hushed by the stone of the old castle. 

The silence at times was interminable. As darkness began to fall, he began to worry in earnest. Fox was not going to send for him. Maybe he'd even forgotten about him. There was no-one else in the world who actually cared. If he'd angered the Prince to the extent that Fox considered him too much trouble... Fox wasn't going to send for him. 

And why should he? Alex found himself curled up with his arms across his knees, shivering in the cold. 

He jumped as he heard footsteps in the corridor outside his cell. Getting up on stiff legs, he waited. The chains let him go to the door, but a tray was pushed inside. On it was a bowl of gruel and a bowl of water. The guard left without a word. 

He considered it for a long time, before getting down to eat it with a sigh. He grimaced at the taste of it. But decided it wasn't worth starving himself. There was always tomorrow. He downed the gruel. It was admittedly better than the army rations he and his men had been living on prior to his capture. 

The night passed in a long haze of jumbled images and memories of voices. He awoke several times thinking he was back in his own room at the Baron's castle. Or even upstairs in the Prince's chambers. But each time the cell closed in around him. 

The dark was too much. The cloying smell and the darkness was overpowering and he had to fight off the creeping terrors that threatened him with mental annihilation in the memory of his days before in the pit, in this same castle. He finally managed to catch a few hours of dark, unmoving sleep. 

He awoke the next day, cold and stiff and sore. Miserably, he closed his eyes and let himself drift. The Prince wasn't going to send for him at all. He had decided to let him languish in here for good. 

He considered marking the days. He was starting to feel delirious from the numbing boredom and he decided it wasn't worth letting his muscles atrophy from disuse. He did pushups and stretches, occasionally pulling at the chains, using them for leverage and enjoying the strain. 

But by the close of the afternoon, as darkness began to fall again, Alex finally felt the despair closing in on him. He found himself weeping silently, knowing that he'd be lucky if The Fox sent for him even after a week. It had only been, what, two days? It felt like an age. 

By the end of the fourth day, he was so numb and delirious that he was willing to admit that he hadn't ever really felt anguish quite like it, apart from the nightmare experience of being trapped in the oubliette. This was at least better than that. 

At the end of the fifth day, as night began to fall, the sound of footsteps was heard again. He knew it was the guard there to feed him so he began to get up to go to the door. To his amazement, the key was turned in the lock and the door was opened. Several guards were there. 

"He's sent for you," said one of them. 

He got up on shaky legs, and accompanied them without a word. They were quiet also, not saying anything. No comments this time, no undertones or jibes. They merely took him to the washroom and scrubbed him clean, scraped at his beard-growth, gave him a change of linens and - to his surprise - this time, a change of clothes, including a dark tunic, leggings, boots and even a cloak. Then he was taken to the dining hall and allowed to eat a meal, under the watchful eye of the guards. 

He was too affected still by the time he'd spent in the dungeon cell to make a fight or attempt to break away. When he'd finished his food, which he wolfed down ravenously, they escorted him upstairs to the Prince's chambers once more. And left him there, unchained, unrestrained. Unguarded. 

He stood uncertainly just inside the door of The Fox's main living room. The fire crackled in the hearth and there were candles on all the walls. There was even a faint flicker of light from the bedroom. 

"H-hello?" he called, his voice hoarse from being unused over the past several days. 

Fox appeared slowly at the bedroom entrance. He stood there, staring back at Alex with an unreadable expression. 

Alex swallowed, noting that the dagger no longer sat sticking in the wooden table. His senses were sharpened by the fact that he appeared to be here completely free, and there stood Fox, unguarded. 

The Prince merely watched as Alex took several more steps towards him. 

Licking his lips, Alex said, "You sent for me." 

Fox's eyes narrowed and he regarded Alex calmly. He folded his arms before him and said, "I did. I've thought it over and I've decided that you've won. I had thought to make you fall in love with me and then break you. But instead, I fell in love with you. I can't lie to myself, it's true, and I won't bother lying to you about it. I've had a hundred different ideas, all of them completely insane. It won't work. So, you're free to go." 

Fox's words rushed over Alex with the force of a gale. 

He wanted to go to him, to hold him in a tight embrace. Missed you, he wanted to say. It doesn't have to be this way. 

The taste of freedom now was somehow tainted with the pain of knowing he was going to be leaving. There hadn't been enough time; there wasn't enough time to get to know him. He didn't want to examine it too closely but it was the truth: he didn't want to leave. Couldn't he stay here, as his guest? The thought of returning to the old Baron's miserable castle sickened him with grief, not least of which was at the idea of no longer being able to see... Fox. 

When the hell had it happened, that he'd fallen in love with this Prince- wait. What? 

"What do you mean?" Alex stood and stared back at him in confusion. 

"I mean you're free to leave. Take a horse - there's one waiting for you. I'll even let you take provisions. Just get the hell out." But Fox said it without anger or even visible emotion. He seemed...deflated, in fact. 

"No, I mean, about the other. What did you mean, you've fallen," Alex hesitated, wondering how to say the words without stumbling over them. "In love with me?" 

Fox's face hardened and his eyes glittered knowingly. "Like I said, Alexander. You've won. You were right; I'm too soft. I just don't have it in me to be the sadistic pervert you need to tame you. Congratulations. Perhaps we'll meet again. If you can raise a big enough army," he added, bitterly. 

Alex slowly began approaching him. Fox stiffened, drawing himself up in expectation perhaps, of some confrontation. 

But Alex merely crossed the distance between them, going to him and reaching out a hand to the back of his neck, looking into Fox's eyes for a moment. Then he leaned close, pressing his lips to Fox's. Fox didn't move at first, but then he relented, and relaxed into it, returning Alex's kiss. 

Alex let his hand slide back to cup Fox's cheek. He pulled back, and staring directly into Fox's eyes, he whispered, "We will meet again. Count on it. I'm just sorry it had to be this way." 

He couldn't bear to not kiss him again and this time, he did so with less restraint, allowing himself the passion and freedom to enjoy kissing him, licking at his lips and feeling Fox part them beneath his tongue as it sought entrance. 

Oh God, too sweet. And far too painful, this time. He had to stop, or he was going to drown in him and never be able to leave. He pulled away once more, his breath coming shorter. He noticed Fox's was too, however. 

The pain of leaving him was almost like a knife itself, but Alex knew he wanted to get away before Fox changed his mind. He wanted to sink to his knees before him and beg him to... take him, claim him. To take him and have him and make him HIS. But there was so much to do. 

"I'll see you again, Fox." Alex stated it with absolute determination. "There are just a few matters I need to settle first." 

Fox was silent, not replying, and Alex finally decided if he didn't leave then, he might not be able to. 

Fox watched him leave. Alex made his way out, down the stairs and along the corridors, finding his way out of the castle to where a horse was waiting for him. 

Each clop of the horse's hooves that led him away from the castle after the guards had let him through the gate pierced him to the heart. How could he leave him behind? There was much to be done. Yet, the folly of leaving his heart behind in Fox's care was agony. 

He hadn't expected this, he hadn't expected it to hurt this much. And as he rode off into the night on the empty road, he brushed at the wetness on his face and told himself it was the rain, although the sky was cloudless and cold. 

* * *

As the days turned to weeks, Fox grew more and more sullen and withdrawn. He had begun missing the everyday meal, and even the evening supper. He began missing meals so frequently, and Henrietta claimed he wasn't touching the food she brought him, that finally Walter and Dana went up to his chambers. 

Fox was sitting by the window in his bedroom, staring down at the palace gardens below. 

"You did the right thing," Dana said. 

"Even if it was a chance you took," Walter admonished. "His regrouped army is smashing barons left and right. He's single-handedly uniting his entire nation. You seem to have renewed his resolve, not to mention his ambition." 

"Like I care," Fox finally said. 

"Even broken hearts mend with time," Dana said. "You have to give yourself time. Don't feel bad about having cared for him. He really was a prize worthy of the wanting. Your self-restraint was remarkable." 

"Virtue is over-rated," Fox stated, folding his arms before him resolutely. Glumly. 

Walter and Dana exchanged a glance from behind him, where he continued to stare down at the garden. 

Cautiously, Dana came to stand beside him. She laid a hand on his shoulder, noting the way his bones showed through the cloth of his tunic. She glanced back at Walter who shrugged. "Fox," she said, "You're not weak, and you're not a coward. You had to let him go." 

He looked up at her, the anger and the pain suddenly breaking through. "Why? Why did I?" he demanded, his voice sharp. 

"Because," she stated firmly, "it was the right thing to do. Because it was the only way to prove to him that your feelings were true. If you had kept him in chains, he never would have believed you." 

Fox stared back out the window again; this time the pain didn't leave his face however. "It doesn't matter. Nothing does." 

"Horseshit," Walter said, dryly. "You're going to be crowned king in a matter of days. How you can sit around here on your ass moping when there are arrangements to be made, I have no idea. Byers is running around frantically trying to cover the gaping hole that your absence is making. He can't work miracles and it's unfair of you to expect him to." 

Fox shot him a look, then one at Dana where she still stood with her hand on his shoulder. "I know what you're doing; both of you. Stop worrying. I'll be fine. I'll ascend to my father's throne and prepare for war." 

Dana frowned. "War?" 

"You can't mean to -" Walter stopped. "You can't be serious! Wage war on another nation simply because you're heartsick?!" 

"No," Fox explained patiently. "Prepare for the war he'll bring to me. When he's finished taking over his country and he's claimed the crown for himself." 

"Hold that thought," Byers said, at the door. "Forgive my intrusion, Highness, but this cannot wait. I have here a message that was brought by a messenger directly from Alexander - he sent it by courier, with instructions that you read it. You and you alone." 

Fox went to Byers and took it, animated for the first time since Alex's departure. He read it, then read it again. Then he absently let Dana take it from his nerveless fingers and he went to sit down in the chair nearby. 

Byers was beside himself. "What does it say? War? Truce? What?!" He demanded, impatiently. 

Dana waved a hand, reading over it. "He's offering a truce. He says he's united the nation, the kingdom, all the baronies. He's had all of them executed, including old Spender, and is in the process of cleaning up the mess. He says he took lessons from what Fox here has achieved. The common people are overjoyed and are uniting behind him. He's suggesting a truce, yes!" Dana sank down into a chair herself with relief. Continuing, she said, "He's coming here for Fox's coronation. And he suggests," she stopped. And looked over at Fox with surprise. 

"What? Suggests what?" Walter was mystified. 

"Shall I read it?" Dana asked Fox, wondering obviously if she ought to. 

Fox shrugged. "Go ahead. They'll find out soon, in any case." 

Dana swallowed. "He's offering a gesture of goodwill and peace, in the form of a consort, from his country to ours, to be bound to Prince Fox in a marriage of state. He's - basically asking Fox's hand." She looked up at them. 

Byers stood in thought. "That will be some arrangement," he mused. 

But Walter shot a look at Fox. "How will you answer him? I mean, this is unorthodox." 

"To say the least," Fox murmured. "Can - will you all give me some moments alone, here? I need to think." 

Realizing he really did need the solitude, they left him alone. 

Picking up the scroll once more from the table where Dana had left it, Fox read over it again. Handwritten, presumably from Alex himself, as the writing matched the signature, the message was clear. He wanted him, and actually hoped that Fox might accept his proposal. 

Walter was right. It WAS unorthodox. A treaty forged in such unlikely circumstances was hardly regular. At the moment, Fox couldn't really say that he cared. It was more the outrageousness of Alex's suggestion to him, personally, that affected him. 

How was he supposed to believe this was real? That Alex actually wanted him? The way they'd encountered each other here had not exactly been under friendly conditions. First with Alex murdering his father after having been imprisoned under guise of truce, then with a conquering and defeated army on his border with subsequent imprisonment. And his delight in discovering that he really did find Alex worthy of public disgrace and dalliance... Only to find he didn't have the stomach, or the balls, to follow through. Why stop there? He hadn't had the HEART to do it. And to find Alex offering this extraordinary truce... In spite of his treatment of Alex, which had included incarceration along with disgrace. 

Abruptly, he sat down to pen a reply. 

* * *

Alexander saw that he and his retinue were finally out of the town below and on the main road that led up to The Fox's castle. The impatience and doubt pitched through him as he realized he was about to find out the meaning of Prince Fox's cryptic response. 

"Your offer is accepted; come immediately, as soon as your affairs are in order." 

What the hell was he to make of that? Did that mean that he actually accepted the whole thing? Even the bit about being his consort? Alex had agonized over whether or not to actually state it outright. He would have preferred to offer in person, with the ability to communicate what he meant in more than just words. To do it properly. But he'd feared that to return prematurely without being sure that Fox wouldn't just have him seized and imprisoned once more in a fit of pique... Well, he was having to take that chance, now, wasn't he? Even with a group of soldiers with him, Alex still felt like he was returning straight back into the dragon's lair. 

But the entry to the castle was peaceable enough. Fox's guards certainly seemed amiable. There was a little bit of tension but Alex could see it was mostly coming from himself. The Captain of the Guard recognized him immediately and nodded his head. "My Lord, his Highness said to tell you that he would wait for you above. He's been expecting your arrival." 

"My thanks," Alex said. He gave instructions for his men to relax and mingle with the rest of the people. The Captain reassured them that they were guests and invited them to partake of the evening meal. 

Alex left his horse in their care, and quietly made his way up to the Prince's chambers. He found himself making his way there almost absently, noting with some surprise that he remembered the way almost perfectly. 

As he finally found himself standing before the door, he was breathing hard, his breath coming short and fast. He closed his eyes, wondering at the reception he might receive. He prayed Fox would be glad to see him. Swallowing, he raised a fist and knocked twice. 

A muffled voice came to him and he assumed it was to give him permission to enter. As he swung the wooden door inwards, he saw Fox standing in the middle of the room, looking sheepish. 

God, he looked good though. Alex cleared his throat and came into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. He blinked at Fox, wondering at how much time had passed since he'd last beheld him. 

Fox was wearing a simple robe, open all down the front, and a casual shirt and leggings. He looked like he'd retired for the evening. 

Alex said, "It's good to see you." His legs felt like they were made of wood. 

Fox smiled at him, slowly. "Consorts, huh?" His voice was a wealth of unspoken meaning. 

Alex looked down with an answering smile. "Well, you know. How else could I put it without getting graphic and possibly shocking your Steward?" 

"Not to mention the rest of the kingdom; both kingdoms - mine and yours," Fox added. 

"It doesn't matter," Alex said, firmly. "I've put all the snakes to route. I've been cleaning up." 

"Yes, I heard." Fox regarded him, with a searching gaze. 

Alex found he'd run out of words. He didn't know what to say. But - wait, he did. Looking back up at Fox and meeting his eye, he said, "I told you we'd meet again." 

Fox licked his lips and stared back at him. "You're serious about this." 

"Yes, I am." He was too; it seemed almost as if no time had passed at all, despite the long months that had passed since he'd last stood in this room. He stood, waiting. Wondering if Fox really would take his offer. He began to wonder. And frowning, he asked, "Do you - are you -" 

His question was cut short by Fox coming towards him and taking his hand. Pulling him towards the bedroom. "Come in, come in. We need to talk." 

Alex had never actually been inside The Fox's bedroom and he found himself a little cowed by the experience. He licked his lips. His heart was hammering within his chest. "I really did miss you." 

Fox smiled at him, beaming at him. Alex was taken aback. "I missed you also," Fox assured him. "Come on, sit down." 

Alex realized he was welcome there and relaxed. He sat down in the seat Fox was indicating. Nervously, he grinned. "I wasn't sure you'd want to see me." 

"Are you kidding?" Fox asked in disbelief. "I spent every night in hell, waiting. I was sure you would wage war on me after what I did to you. I wanted to write, to say I was sorry. I realized it was way too late for that though." 

Alex frowned, guilt stabbing at him. He looked down and licked his lips again, unsure how to bring up his own apology. "I couldn't exactly just say I was sorry, either, for killing your father." He looked swiftly back up at Fox, to see what effect this reminder of his actions would have upon Fox. But Fox only shook his head slightly. 

"You're right, it's too late for that too. He shouldn't have pushed you. He was a petty old man, and although I loved him, he's gone through the consequences of his own actions. He was wrong to put you in the pit. I was away at the time, or I swear, Alex, I wouldn't have allowed him to do it. I would have tried to get him to see reason. I don't think he comprehended the danger he was in. I've been to speak with my mother, in her retirement cottage. Well, it's more of a manse than a cottage, but... Anyway, she said that my father had brought it on himself by involving himself with the wrong kind of friends and alliances. He'd come by the kingdom through treachery, himself, and she'd always feared he'd come to a bad end. She wasn't surprised." 

"Fox, I am sorry. Regardless." Alex wanted to say it now, before Fox could go any further. He had to have it out there, between them. 

"I know," Fox replied. "I know you are." But nonetheless, Fox seemed changed by his words. 

Maybe...maybe it wasn't too late to say sorry after all, Alex mused. He wondered if he could keep going in this vein. With his heart in his mouth, he said, "I'm sorry that I tried to invade, too. I deserved to lose that battle. The Lord truly does favor the righteous. And I can't think of anyone more deserving of success and victory than you, Fox." He almost winced at the obsequiousness of the words, but he meant them sincerely. 

But they had the desired effect on Fox, who sat blinking at him. "Thanks. Thank you, Alex." And then he smiled again. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "You've been traveling... I forgot. What a poor host I am. Do you want to eat something? Do you want a bath?" 

Alex shook his head, smiling. "I'm alright, actually. Some food would be good, but first, there's something I've been wanting to do." 

Fox looked at him. "What? What is it?" 

Alex got up and began stalking towards him. Fox almost stood up but Alex put both hands on his shoulders and with a grin, he pushed him back onto the bed. Stepping in close, he leaned down and kissed him, first playfully, then more seriously as Fox responded. 

Finally they broke apart, and Fox said, "Get out of those clothes." 

"Certainly, your Highness," Alex agreed, quickly attempting to strip out of what he wore. 

Fox sat up, divesting himself of his robe and his clothes beneath it too. Then he climbed back up onto the bed, higher up it to where his pillows were. 

Alex followed, on hands and knees, naked now. 

"Jesus," breathed Fox. "You look just like that panther again. You really do." 

Alex stopped, freezing, realizing he probably did. Then an evil smile crossed his face. "No chains this time, though." He began to venture towards Fox again. Reaching him, he pushed Fox down and slid against him, enjoying at last the sensation of their bodies pressed together. 

In between bites and nibblings of Fox's neck, Alex breathed against the tender skin there, "I have never been able to take a leak since, without thinking of you." 

With a shamefaced smile, Fox said, "Actually, neither have I." 

"I've had fantasies of coming back here at the head of a massive army, simply for the pleasure of putting you in chains and enjoying the same as you had from me," Alex confessed, not letting up the nuzzling of Fox's neck. 

"So have I," Fox said. 

Surprised, Alex raised his head. "You have?" 

Fox began snickering at him. "You will never know how many people fell in love with you that day. In the dining hall, downstairs. There are still people talking about it. You wouldn't believe how many jealous women are giving me the Evil Eye over our impending announcement of our official engagement. I think they consider it unfair, seeing as you're a man." 

Alex stared down at him, marveling that this Prince was his. HIS. 

"Alex?" Fox asked. 

"I fell in love with you a long time ago," Alex said, slowly. "And you hardly even looked at me." 

Fox looked odd at this and squirmed slightly beneath him. "Yes, I did. I looked. I remembered you vividly. Those eyelashes. And your green eyes. I couldn't exactly forget you." 

"You were mean to me," Alex said, not caring that his words actually sounded petulant. 

"Yes, well, you've more than made up for it," Fox grumbled. 

"You will too though. Have to make up for it, I mean." 

"Okay," Fox agreed, with a thrust of his hips against him. "As soon as you're ready." 

Alex kissed him, unable to stand wanting him and not being able to have him now that he'd finally come back. He had to let himself kiss his Prince. When he lifted his head again, Fox had gone all soft except in the most important place. 

Fox opened his eyes and said, "I can make it up to you. I've got some of that massage oil in the jar by the bed." 

Alex grinned over at the bedside. "I'll have to get up to get it and I don't want to leave you here all alone." 

"Up! Go! Now." Fox ordered him with an impatient gesture. 

Crawling on hands and knees yet again, scrambling towards the bedside, Alex located the oil and brought it back to where Fox lay, now on his side. As he knelt by him, Fox said, "I've been dreaming about this. About you." 

"You won't have to dream anymore," Alex promised him, dipping his fingers in the oil and anointing his cock that was stiff and hard simply at the thought of being inside of his beautiful Fox. "Turn onto your belly," he said. The scent of the oil was roses. He'd never be able to smell roses again without thinking of this, their wedding night. 

Fox did so, settling on his belly. "I haven't ever done this before," Fox said, suddenly, his voice slightly muffled by the bedcovers. "Not with a man." 

Alex grinned. "That's alright. I have. I'll go easy on you." And he knelt between Fox's legs, pushing them slowly apart with his knees. Sliding two oiled fingers down the crack of Fox's tight, hard buttocks, he parted those pale, creamy cheeks and then allowed the jar to tip, dribbling enough oil onto him that Fox hissed with the cold. "Sorry," Alex said, grinning and not sorry at all. He began to knead Fox's flesh, enjoying the way the skin was slippery and seemed to pinken under his harder pinches. "You are the prize, I think," Alex murmured. He used the last of the oil to reapply it to his cock, and then slid down onto Fox's waiting back. Angling the tip of his erection against Fox's slicked-up ass, he found the tight hole there and said, "Breathe. And remember, I love you," he added, punctuating this with a kiss to Fox's neck, just beneath his hair. He noticed Fox was pushing back against him and he took this as a sign to continue. 

Sliding into him was easy, past the ring of tightened muscle, and the groan that Fox gave was musical in his ears. Alex wondered if he were indeed dreaming, or if it were real. But there was no mistaking it; he really did have a handful of Fox writhing under him as he pinioned him with his hard cock. 

To have dreamed about this, for so long, never truly sure that he'd ever see his beloved Fox again... It was a revelation. And he slid deeper into him, enjoying the way Fox's body simply - gave way, under his, allowing his shaft to sink harder, deeper, and Alex could feel his heart going out of him along with it. He stopped as he felt the last inch sink into Fox's ass, and whispered, stilling all movement, "Are you alright? Does it hurt?" 

"Give me a moment," Fox's strained reply reached him. "It's new. It's good, but it's new." 

"Once you get used to it, you'll love it." 

"I already do," Fox said, his voice getting slightly unhinged. "Okay. Go ahead and move." 

Alex began a slight rocking motion, simply undulating atop him, not attempting to penetrate him hard, just letting him get used to the feeling of it, the rhythm. Sure enough, Fox eventually began to relax. God, to be taking the Prince's virgin ass - it was glorious. He felt humbled, even. He wanted eternity with him. Time was passing too quickly. 

"Want you," he said, kissing Fox's neck mindlessly now. "Always." 

He kept rocking, letting his hips thrust a little harder and enjoyed the way Fox arched under him with it. 

Fox was whispering a loose stream of curses. Finally he said, "For God's sake, fuck me harder, Alex." 

"I don't want to hurt you-" 

But Fox interrupted him. "Do it! I need it. Harder!" 

Alex began to oblige, letting himself fall into the sweet, wild abandon of fucking Fox's ass. "Fox," he said, hoarsely, panting. 

"Come on, harder," Fox said, his entreaty getting desperate. 

Alex finally stopped caring about making this a pleasant, smooth ride and concentrated on letting loose a volley of stabbing thrusts, enjoying the fact that even as his hearing started to go with the thundering of his blood rushing in his ears, and his own cries were drowning him out, Fox's yelps and screams were growing louder and louder. 

Oh sweet fucking mother of God at last - fucking this tight, luscious ass under him - 

Alex cried out, reaching that core of pleasure that burned inside, a sweet, barely-remembered and forgotten taste of happiness, like a starburst in his brain, covering them with sweat and heat and love - 

He came inside Fox's body, sheathed within the glorious body of the man he'd finally achieved, and whom he'd never imagined he'd finally hold. Sobbing his name, Alex spurted the last of his heart and soul into Fox, his beloved Prince, and collapsed upon Fox's heaving body as it shuddered and shook beneath him. He remembered, all too late, that he hadn't helped Fox to orgasm, either with his hand or mouth, and promptly smiled, panting, knowing he could make it up to him afterward. 

Resting his forehead against Fox's shoulder blade, he whispered, "I love you, my Fox." 

Fox breathed a sigh beneath him and murmured, "Love you, Alexander." He squirmed beneath him, this time in discomfort. "Let me move. I want to turn around." 

Alex was saddened that the feelings seemed to pass so swiftly. All too soon the moment was gone. He pulled out of Fox, slowly with consideration for the fact that Fox was new to it, and then crawled off of him. 

Fox turned, edging onto his side and then taking Alex in his arms. With a grin, he kissed him on the cheek. Then on the mouth, licking at his lips. "That was very interesting," he purred. "You may have to do it again." 

Alex felt better, assuaged by the knowledge that after all, they had the rest of their lives. However long that would be. He began to wonder at the thought that he had never considered losing Fox. He had always been so intent on finding him. Getting him. 

"Hey, you okay?" Fox's voice turned solicitous. 

Alex smiled at him. "Good. I'm good. Just... thinking. It's your turn, I think, isn't it?" 

"My turn? What, to take you? Yes, it is," Fox agreed. 

"No, I mean, you need to come too." 

"I did," Fox said, a sly smile coming over him. 

"Ah," Alex said, nodding like an idiot. He felt slow on the uptake. Must be the rush of the humors in his blood after such a mind-blowing climax. It really hadn't been much more than release, however, due to the tension and the pinnacle of having actually got his Prince once more. "You're right. We need to do this again." 

"I intend to do it with you repeatedly until they take a battering ram to the door," Fox promised, with a lewd motion of his hips against Alex. 

Alex responded by kissing him. And promptly forgot what he might have said in response, lost instantly in the exquisite honey of Fox's mouth. 

"You're mine," Fox said into his mouth, between licks at him. 

"And you're mine," Alex reminded him. 

With a sigh of relief, Fox settled in against him, content for the moment to recover, apparently. "I was worried that you didn't mean what I thought you meant." 

Alex considered this. "About becoming consorts?" 

"Yes." 

He was quiet; so was Fox. Finally, he turned and kissed Fox again, this time pulling him even closer to him, in a tight embrace. "I have a lot to make up for, and so do you. Anything else just wouldn't be adequate." 

"Is it too late for me to apologize to you, for the way I treated you?" Fox's query seemed cautious. Almost as if he was regretting becoming serious once more. 

But Alex smiled and kissed him again. "Of course not. Besides, it was very good. You may have to make it up to me by appearing downstairs without your clothes, however. A single appearance will do." 

"I refuse." 

"You can't." 

"I just did." 

"Fine. You'll have to make it up to me though." 

"My pleasure," Fox replied, the acid edge to his voice belying his response. 

Alex laughed at him. And settled in with a sigh of contentment. They had the rest of their lives, after all. He wondered at the strangeness of the turns of fate, at the way destiny had taken him down this road. 

He never would have thought that his original defeat would turn out to lead to his greatest victory. And in Fox claiming his prize, he'd actually claimed the greater one, having taken The Fox's heart for his own. It was with a bone-deep satisfaction that he responded as Fox moved against him again, this time with silent intent. 

At last, he'd won. They both had. 

* * *

  
 

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Jami Wilsen


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